Blink
by narcissist.complex
Summary: "Sherlock, I know that things are different now. But that does not mean that you're allowed to stop being brilliant. We need you, Sherlock. John needs you. Can't you see that? John is trying so hard to be brave for you, to keep everything together but he's just as scared as you are." Zombielock epic in which Sherlock struggles with the end of life as we know it.
1. Chapter 1

**-Blink-**  
_A Sherlock fanfic based off of the BBC show. I make no profits off of this whatsoever and I do not own anything from the Show. This story is my own work so please do not re-post this without my permission. If you would like to contact me please send me a message at .com. _

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**Summary**  
In a matter of days life as we know it is shattered. Sherlock Holmes struggles with coming to terms with the zombie apocalypse despite Mycroft's early warning. Can John and Sherlock ultimately adjust to London becoming a living hell? Can Sherlock find a cure for the virus that changed the world in the blink of an eye?

**Chapter One: The Text **

Sherlock Holmes was a man of reason, logic, and usually sound judgment. That is, most of the time at least. There were times when he could be childish, selfish, immature, and irrational. The latter happened on such occasions when A.) John was ignoring him or blowing him off for a date with woman number X or B.) when Mycroft Holmes needed to tell him something incredibly important. Today happened to be a day when both situations were occurring and it was all Sherlock could do not to turn off his cell and barricade the door to keep John from leaving. However, it seemed that John had been anticipating Sherlock's bad reaction and he wasn't phased in the least by his taller flat mate's complaining.

"Honestly, Sherlock, it's just one evening with Sally, she's a great girl can't you make do for one evening?" John's arms were folded and his stance was resolute. His eyes trained on Sherlock's defiance resonating from him.

The taller man rolled his eyes from his position on the couch before speaking. "Yes, John, I could very well make due for one evening but I'd rather not 'make do' when there's a case on our hands. You can put Sally off for the time being, I'm extremely close to solving this case though John. Your date won't help me solve this case. Your presence and assistance in the field will."

He wasn't wrong, he was extremely close to finishing the case, however he needed to go down to the subway and take a look around himself. And by himself, he meant to have John at his side. Sherlock found that his companionship expedited his thinking process.

"And why, for God's sake, can't you go to the subway without me, Sherlock? You know I made this date weeks ago!" John wanted to yell at this point, Sherlock could see that much. He knew when John's temper was about to flare up and he didn't need to be a consulting detective to read him.

"Because John, believe it or not you are rather competent at field work, a skill that I attribute to your stint in the military and spending an obtuse amount of time in my presence, your competence is invaluable in my investigations and speeds up the process considerably," Sherlock explained, barely raising his head to look the John. He instead kept his eyes on the ceiling like a child.

John took a deep breath and kept his composure. "Sherlock, I am not canceling this date for you," he said. "I am tired of canceling dates just to babysit you, let me have this." With that, John opened the front door and left, shutting the door behind him a little louder than necessary.

Sherlock lifted his head to look at the now empty living room. Well then, he was alone for the night. He would think about the case and he would even visit the subway, from the comfort of his own home. The rendition of the crime scene in his mind palace would suffice.

Sherlock was laying sideways on the sofa when his cellphone buzzed. He ignored it, grunting at the sound and turned away from the coffee table that it sat on. Sherlock was bored and trying to sleep now that he solved his latest case, without John. It buzzed a second time and Sherlock uncovered his face before turning to pick up the phone. He looked at the preview, it was Mycroft. What on Earth did Mycroft want? He opened the text and rolled his eyes.

We need to talk.  
-Mycroft

The second text was even shorter though a bit less vague.

_Call me._  
_ -Mycroft_

Sherlock wanted to do neither at the moment. Mycroft rarely asked people to call him. For being such a high clearance official he really didn't like doing things the way that they should have been done. Mycroft brought major criminals to their knees by sending texts to the parliament, what on Earth could he have needed to talk to Sherlock about at this time?

_I'm serious Sherlock, call me now._  
_ -Mycroft_

Sherlock stared at the phone before he started typing furiously. His fingers were trained through endless hours of texting so that he was faster than most of his peers.

_What could you possibly want, Mycroft?_  
_ -S.H. _

_Information from the ECDC. CALL ME SHERLOCK._  
_ -Mycroft_

_No thanks brother dear. Just text me your bacterium reports._  
_ -S.H._  
After a moment when he didn't get a reply, Sherlock set the phone down and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. The phone began ringing. Sherlock wanted to throw the phone out of the window. He grabbed it and held it in his hand as he thought about whether or not he wanted to deal with big brother.

"What do you want, Mycroft," Sherlock asked as he answered the buzzing smart phone. His voice was laced with irritation and impatience. Mycroft's response was quick and to the point.

"Sherlock, I will be sending medical supplies and _food _please don't be alarmed Sherlock. There has been a viral outbreak in Africa that's causing distress among the UN. It has a high probability that it will spread. Please tell and remain indoors until I call you again." Before Sherlock could respond his brother had ended the phone call.

Sherlock's mind began to process what just happened as he stared at his home screen. Mycroft had either just played a prank on him or he thought that the virus was a serious threat to England. He knew that some viruses such as Ebola cropped up here and there especially in Africa. Flights would halt and people would be detained if they were thought to be sick. That happened. However, there had yet to be a virus that would spread and cause severe deaths or famine in many years. Mycroft would have him think that the plague had struck again and that the streets would be rampant with it. But could there have been something that dangerous.

Sherlock dug into his mind palace for information on viruses. Yes, in theory the plague could easily strike in mutated form and it would spread from Africa to London in a short time if it went undetected for any short amount of time. Could that be it? Sherlock sent his brothe another text.

_On a scale of common cold to buobonic plague how bad is this virus? _

_-S.H. _

Sherlock lay still for quite sometime awaiting a text back, but after nearly an hour of waiting he decided that Mycroft must have been up to something important hence the hasty call earlier. Sherlock's mind, now incapable of sleep, pondered the phone call and what it meant for him. Modern medicine could take care of most viruses, did Mycroft intend to send them vaccines? Yes, that would make the most sense, but why food? Sherlock rationalized that this virus must be attacking crops as well, enough food to handle that in the world, but perhaps Mycroft wanted them to live comfortably until normal crops were restored? It want until Sherlock heard John unlocking the front door to get in to their flat that Sherlock received an answer from Mycroft.

_Far worse than the plague, Sherlock._

_-Mycroft_


	2. Chapter 2: Preparations

**Chapter Two: Preparations **

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_I'd love it if you guys give me feedback while writing. The chapters are going to get longer as the story progresses, but right now I'm just handling the back drop and building up to the good stuff. For some reason I thought it best to follow this story through Sherlock's eyes instead of John's so let me know if he's too out of character, honestly I've never written from his perspective before. _

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Sherlock decided it was best not to tell John about the strange conversation that he had with Mycroft. He rationalized that whatever it was, he would be able to deal with it when Mycroft sent the supplies. After all, he was used to Mycroft dealing in international conflicts that he never saw the end of. As much as the younger Holmes hated to admit, Mycroft was vastly more intelligent than he was. The man managed to bring lesser nations to their knees and no one was aware of who was behind it. Mycroft played everything from behind the scenes with such finesse that he earned a salary that would make an oil sheik blush. And if Sherlock had stopped what he was doing every time Mycroft told him that there was some sort of conflict, he would get nothing done.

Mycroft was the perfect older brother wasn't he? Powerful and successful. He had forfeited his inheritance to Sherlock after he got his last promotion and didn't bother informing the younger Holmes brother about it. The text message that a rather astronomical amount of money had been deposited into his already comfortable bank account came as a shock. His initial thought was that either mummy or daddy died and that he was getting his half of their fortune, but a text from Mycroft had explained the wonderful new job that he had come into and that he felt like Sherlock needed the money more than he did. Naturally, the younger man's pride had been a bit wounded when he received the text, Sherlock hadn't spoken to Mycroft for several months after that, especially about Mycroft's new high security job.

Not even a week after the odd conversation, Sherlock found himself sitting on the sofa working on a new piece on his violin when came in with a rather distressed look on her face. John was the first to notice, he set aside his laptop and jumped to his feet, alerting the taller man to her presence.

"Sherlock, dear, your brother's men are here to see you," her voice was considerably higher than usual. She was certainly frightened.

"Send them up then," Sherlock told her with a wave of his hand. He wouldn't bother going downstairs unless he absolutely had to. Sherlock, sat the violin and it's bow aside and stood to greet the newest lackies that Mycroft employed.

There was a great deal of commotion coming from the stairwell, they were obviously carrying something very large, a box then? Wooden on the outside, either containing metal objects or adorned with metal. The latches were loose. would not be happy about the scuffing that was happening on her walls. Jostling of wood on wood, right, two boxes then. One significantly smaller than the other.

Three men wearing black suits finally reached the top of the stairs, large wooden boxes in tow, just as Sherlock had deduced. They carried them into the sitting room and set them down. The bottom box was larger than the coffee table and made quite a noise when it hit the carpet. The smaller box seemed to have much lighter contents.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The tallest man asked, taking the clipboard he had been holding under his arm in hand.

Sherlock nodded and the man handed the clipboard to him. His eyes glanced over the document, it was stamped with Mycroft's seal of approval. Yes, he promised not to resell the contents, to share the knowledge of these contents, and to return them to the government upon request, etc. He signed the document with his signature and handed back to the suited man. Without a word the three men turned on their heels and left.

John coughed from the corner and gave Sherlock a look. His look was met with a shrug of Sherlock's shoulders and a wave of his hand. He knew that John was more confused than he was thanks to his omission of the exchange he had the other day.

"Sherlock, what is all of this?" John asked as he approached the boxes.

"Honestly I couldn't tell you, John. A gift from Mycroft of some sort, and one that undoubtedly required calling on some government favors judging from the papers that I just had to sign," Sherlock explained patiently.

He motioned for John to go ahead and open the boxes, noticing the anticipation practically dripping off of John's posture and his twitching fingers. Honestly, John could be too easy to read sometimes, couldn't he? The blonde knelt down and placed the smaller box next to the larger one before flipping the latches on the bigger box. He cautiously lifted the heavy lid back and let it hit the back of the container. John moved aside some styrofoam beads and his eyes went wide as Sherlock craned his neck for a better look.

"What is it John?" Sherlock asked a bit impatient, he could not see whatever it was that John could see from where he was standing, all he could see were those stupid pieces of foam that were bound to get all over the rug.

John reached further into the crate and pulled out a large semi-automatic rifle, his eyes glued to it's midnight body, there was an alarming spark in John's eyes that Sherlock took note of before he knelt down beside John. He looked into the crate and noticed that there were at least five different firearms inside. He dug around and determined that there was a shotgun, two handguns, another rifle, and a sniper rifle. Underneath all of that, was a large collection of ammo for each of the guns. Sherlock's mind reeled, Mycroft said that he was sending medical supplies and food, not weapons. He tried to assess the crisis that Mycroft was expecting but was thrown out of his thought when he heard John opening up the second box.

This box, did not contain food, but it did contain plenty of medical supplies and vials of things that Sherlock would need to inspect sooner rather than later, because they did not look anything like medicine.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell is all of this?" John asked, his gaze on the crate full of weapons. His face was full of curiosity, not the worry that Sherlock would have expected from anyone else other than John Watson.

"Well, Mycroft mentioned that there was a viral outbreak in Africa, but he didn't specify what, and that it might spread. I've done a bit of digging and all flights to and from the continent have been canceled for the past three weeks, but Mycroft must think that the situation is dire to have sent all of this," Sherlock explained.

John's eyes narrowed. "A viral outbreak? Was he more specific? That, mixed with the small armory he sent us, sounds like a zombie outbreak if I didn't know better," he said.

Sherlock shook his head. "Yes, my brother can be a little vague but that's nothing to be worried about. He'll give us details as we need them. If we need them. Mycroft has always been a little hasty, and honestly John? A zombie outbreak?"

The shorter man shook his head. "My point is, this stuff is extreme. Like end of the world extreme. Don't you think this is a little strange?"

Sherlock shrugged and made his way over to the sofa. "Strange indeed, John," he said. "However, strange means nothing to me unless I know why it's strange. Knowing Mycroft, I'll know what's going on sooner than later, please stop fretting."

John looked at Sherlock for a good minute before standing up and brushing his hands on his pants. "Fine," he said. "I'll take the guns up to my room and put the medicine in the bathroom." With that, John was off and Sherlock slipped into the depths of his mind palace.


	3. Chapter 3: It Begins

The next week was maddening. John insisted on having the news on all day and all night. He sat there, in his chair, the volume of the television higher than usual, and watched the news for hours on end with pause. Sherlock started to go mad and retreated to his bedroom, spending more time with his violin than with John. On the eighth day of John's marathon, Sherlock finally got another text from Mycroft.

_Barricade your flat. Don't ask questions._

- Mycroft

Sherlock sprinted to the living room and motioned for John to come over.

_I will, why?_

- S.H.

_Do it Sherlock. I'll pick you and John up soon, barricade your flat._

- Mycroft

"What's up, Sherlock," John asked, glancing from the taller man's inquisitive stare to his phone. Sherlock looked from the glowing screen to his flatmate and cocked his head to the side, brain moving a mile a minute.

Mycroft was telling them to barricade the flat. Which meant that he should probably barricade the flat, despite his instinct to ignore his older brother's commands. He knew that Mycroft wouldn't just tell them to do something unless it was necessary. How many tools did they have? Wood, they would need wood. Did they have wood? would do best to come upstairs and get informed about what's happening. Did she have tools? Lestrade should be informed as well, perhaps they should tell Molly. Molly can not fend for herself. Fend against what?

John coughed and Sherlock broke out of his thought process. "Call Lestrade and have him bring over his toolbox, and any spare wood that he may have," his words came fast.

"I will phone Molly and have her bring over extra food, once you're done please have come upstairs." He proceeded to dial the number of his trusty pathologist as he used his free hand to wave John into action.

The blonde looked confused but he did as he was told, moving admirably fast. He was thankful that John knew him well enough than to keep him waiting.

The phone rang twice as long as Sherlock would have liked before Molly picked up the phone and when she did, he wasted no time with small talk.

"Molly, do not ask questions, please pack as much food as possible and make your way to 221B Baker Street as soon as possible," he told her.

Instead of waiting for her to reply and wasting time trying to explain himself to her as John wa doing with Lestrade, he hung up and made his way to John's room.

The first thing he noticed upon opening the door was that John's room was incredibly warm, much warmer than he would have guessed. The man must radiate body heat. He found the wooden case at the side of John's bed, the side that the small man never slept on as Sherlock observed, and grabbed a handgun, he made sure it was loaded before slipping it into the inside pocket of his blazer before grabbing the crate and turning it's content onto John's bed. Sherlock then brought the wooden crate to the sitting room and proceeded to smash it to bits.

had a fright when she Sherlock smashing the crate to bits and gave out a small cry that caused Sherlock to stop what he was doing.

" ! Please bring as much food as you can up to our kitchen right now, have John help you if you must," he told her with a wave of her arms.

"Of course, but Sherlock dear, is something happening," she asked.

Sherlock snorted, "Something is always happening , now please, I have not the time to go into details, just hurry."

did as he instructed and John looked from Sherlock to the doorway before following their landlady down the stairs and out of sight.

Once Sherlock was content with the state in which he had smashed the wooden crate, he turned on the telly and set the volume just low enough so that he could hear. He took a seat and took out his phone, sending his brother a quick text.

_This had better be important, Mycroft._

_-S.H._

His fingers twitched as he waited for Mycroft to respond. It was a bit silly hoping that his brother would reply instantly, he knew that Mycroft had plenty of other things to worry about. Especially his job for the government. John and finally came back upstairs with food in tow, boxes of it actually, and he watched as they put it in the kitchen, immediately stocking it up. John brushed his hands on his jeans and came over to Sherlock.

"Are you going to fill me in now?" John sat down beside Sherlock on the couch.

"There's not much to tell," Sherlock admitted. "Mycroft told me to barricade the flat. He hasn't yet given me anymore details."

John nodded and turned his attention to the television. There was a weather report that said it would rain tomorrow but nothing that indicated that London was going to fall into some sort of terrible conflict or impending doom.

"What do you think is going on," John asked carefully.

Sherlock took in a deep breath before exhaling, he honestly wished that he knew. He could speculate but he was blindsided. He honestly did not know enough about Mycroft's job to make any solid deductions.

"I honestly do not know, John," he told him.

A knock on the door broke them out of an uncomfortable silence and this time, Sherlock was the one who made for the door. He opened it to find both Molly and Lestrade standing their, boxes with them. Given that Lestrade was out of breath, Molly must of been the one who made it their first.

He ushered them in and sent Molly to the kitchen with and examined the objects that Lestrade had brought with them. Not bad, some two by fours and a rather expansive tool kit. He explained what needed to be done and he put John and Lestrade to work before heading back up to John's room to get the rest of the guns. He put the second handgun in his waistband and picked up the rifles. He brought them down to the first floor and dumped them onto the sofa. He listened to the sound of John and Lestrade nailing in the boards and started thinking about what was going on before Molly came back into the living room.

"Hey, Sherlock, what's going on," there was hesitation in Molly's voice.

Sherlock turned and looked at Molly, noting the worry in her voice and the fact that her gaze was stuck on the pile of guns on the sofa. He blinked at her slowly, choosing his words so carefully.

"There's an anticipated….crises according to my elder brother, Mycroft," he slowly explained. "He has sent us these military issued weapons and asked us to barricade the flat. I have called you and Lestrade here so that we are all ready for the crisis. Sometimes there is an undeniable advantage to having numbers and I intend to have the upper hand in this conflict."

Molly nodded, a look of trust evident on her face. Sherlock, was fortunate enough that she did not ask anymore questions at this time. Sherlock gave her a small smile, remembering Molly's fragile ego and took the handgun out of his waistband.

"Take this to John," he instructed, handing her the gun.

Molly's eyes went wide as the took the gun, obviously not used to the weight. She nodded and took the gun downstairs and left Sherlock to his own thoughts. Sherlock, made his way to the kitchen and looked into the pantries, had done a lovely job stocking up. He checked the fridge and noted that she had spared bringing them a bunch of perishable goods. He really could rely and couldn't he?

From the kitchen, Sherlock could the sound of the TV being raised. He felt himself get a slight headache at the intrusion and tried to keep it at bay as he turned to his bedroom to assess the flat. He would have to give Lestrade and Molly a suitable place to sleep. He could put them in John's room. Yes, he would need his room in the coming days to seek refuge from their normalcy. He may have tolerated them more than other people but that didn't keep them from giving him a headache after prolonged exposure.

"Sherlock, you might want to see this mate!" Lestrade's voice rang out from the sitting room, a note of alarm in his voice.

The detective stuck his head into the sitting room and saw both DI Lestrade and John standing in front of the telly. John's face was void of emotion but Lestrade looked as scared as child. With the longest strides possible, Sherlock walked into the sitting room and let his eyes fall on the screen. He saw chaos from the overhead sky cam and read the caption on the screen.

_**Africa falls into a living hell as the UN closes all air traffic in and out of the country.**_


	4. Chapter 4: It Unfolds

_I am trying to pace this story at a decent rate. Please let me know if this too long, too short, whatever. _

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**Chapter Four: It Unfolds**

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It would have been difficult for the average person to make out what was going on on the telly at this very moment. Chaos was not a word that did justice to the current state that being broadcasted. Sherlock's mind naturally isolated the important parts:

Fire, lots of it, several houses and vehicles were burning.  
Explosions in the distance.  
Military forces.

People running.  
People running at each other.

People running to the military forces.

Were they tackling each other.

Need an overhead shot.

"Good god, what's going on?" Lestrade's voice was shaky as he turned to the consulting detective.

John practically had to rip his gaze away from the screen to focus on Sherlock, the detective noted the distant look in his eyes. Yes, John was probably having flashbacks to Afghanistan now. Sherlock would deal with that later if necessary.

Sherlock turned to the DI and shrugged. "Obviously a violent conflict, Lestrade. Of what, I'm not completely certain. However, if you notice, there's a large number of people attacking both the militia and each other on screen. Yes, look harder, the explosions are distracting aren't they? I believe there's an uprising going on. Seeing as the whole of Africa has been cut off from the rest of the world, they could be reacting violently as a result of being trapped with whatever pathogen is plaguing them. No one likes feeling trapped or isolated from the rest of the world."

Lestrade nodded at him and turned his attention back to the screen. The reporter was obviously not privy to much information and waffled as stations often did when they wanted to break news that wasn't quite news yet. Something was happening but apparently no one knew what. Sherlock's pocket vibrated and he reached into it, pulling out his phone.

_It's started Sherlock, the UN is doing everything to make sure it does not spread.  
_-Mycroft

Sherlock's fingers quickly typed up a reply. He was becoming slightly irritated by his brother's vagueness and wished that someone would give him a straight answer already.

_What is it, Mycroft. We're operating in the dark._

-S.H.

John moved to the couch and looked down at the small pile of guns. His eyes caressing each and every gun. He might have been an army doctor, but Sherlock knew that he saw combat. Nearly everyone who participated in the Enforcing Freedom operation did. Now, John was being presented with what Mycroft seemed to think was a crisis that would require John's military skills again and the detective didn't have to deduce the fact that John obviously craved the conflict.

_It's like nothing we have seen. Causes berserker like violence and desensitization to pain.  
_-Mycroft

Sherlock, stared at Mycroft's reply after the phone buzzed in his hand, taking his attention away from his silent flatmate. Violence and desentization? Some kind of concentrated adrenaline like virus then? Curious. Was it really a pathogen and not some kind of new drug that people got their hands on? He glanced up at the screen and noted that there were still no details. Fascinating. Before he could say anything to John or Lestrade, his phone buzzed again.

_Don't go outside Sherlock. We might not be able to contain it. It spreads quickly.  
_ -Mycroft

Sherlock, looked to the window and blinked. Well, that was not comforting nor was it especially helpful. So there's some kind of violent sickness going around? Interesting. Sherlock's mind quickly realized that it was probably an evolution of rabies. Yes, that would be it wouldn't it. Rabies could modify a host's behavior to spread. A hyper intelligent form of the virus must have mutated in Africa. Airborne? No...probably not. However, much faster symptoms had to be the case unless it was laying dormant for some time.

"Sherlock, everything's been put away and boarded up." It was Molly's careful voice that broke him out of thought. Right. They were waiting on him weren't they?

"We can't go outside, not right now. Mycroft says the virus may leave Africa. I believe that it's an advanced form of Rabies, it is spreading quickly from human to human contact I believe," he told them.

John chuckled from the sofa that he was now sitting on. Sherlock, looked at him and raised an eyebrow. John shrugged and traced the rifle he had in his lap.

"It's just a little strange isn't it? Sherlock, I was kidding when I said zombies earlier, but you know I watch a lot of horror movies. This sounds like we're becoming the stars of a really bad b-list zombie movie. Advanced rabies? An entire continent being shut down? I know that 'zombies' can't really exist, but bloody hell, if they could I'd be pretty freaked out right now," he explained.

Lestrade snorted and Sherlock looked at John with a look that asked him to kindly keep his theories to himself.

Sherlock, knew that John watched a substantial number of horror movies so he could not exactly blame John for saying something so stupid. However, the dead did not come back to life like in those gory films that his flatmate watched. It was not scientifically possible. The last thing he wanted was to have anyone getting ahead of themselves here. He needed John to take this threat seriously until they had the all clear from Mycroft.

"Don't give me that look, Sherlock," John said indignantly.

"I'm not saying that there's gonna be a zombie apocalypse, I'm just saying it's a little funny is all."

The taller man shook his head and sat in his favorite sitting chair. He folded his legs under him and steepled his fingers together, propping his elbows on his knees. His face was serious and he stared off, not focusing on anything in particular.

"We need to be serious about this, John. I understand that right now it seems like Mycroft is being a little too cautious or that whatever is happening in Africa won't hit England, but it's entirely possible. If we do not keep our wits about us we could wind up in a bad spot," Sherlock explained.

Molly opened her mouth to say something before the news station finally displayed a refreshed breaking news banner. Sherlock shushed her with a wave of his hand and leaned forward.

"_There are reports that the people have started attacking each other so viciously that they are dying in the streets. A correspondent tells us that she has witnessed a man getting his arm torn out off of his body by what appeared his wife, the first act of lethal violence we have seen today. The military is trying to gain control over the people before something like this happens again-" _

The news woman's face was ashen as she read the report from the teleprompter. So it was that bad was it? Sherlock's mind fished for knowledge on rabies. It thankfully, had not been deleted thanks to the Baskerville case. Rabies could not easily be cured and most people died from it. He did remember, that hydrophobia was common with people who had rabies. Hmm..He would keep that in mind for future reference if need be.

He noticed Molly rock on her heels out of the corner of his eyes and turned to look at her. She looked incredibly nervous and she looked as if she wanted to say something but wasn't. Good, Sherlock could do without anyone talking right now. He felt mild annoyance from the entire situation and just wanted it to end so he could go back to his experiments or take a case. Waiting was a patient person's game. He was not a patient person.

" , you can have the guest bedroom with Molly, Lestrade, please stay in John's room." He figured he would prepare to have them all here for a while. John made a noise from the couch but did not object.

"I am prepared to wait quite some time before the coast is clear," he added. And with that, Sherlock went to his bedroom to spend some time alone. He knew that Mycroft would contact him before the news would update the general public, not point in staying up watching the news.

No point in letting the news sensationalize this.


	5. Chapter 5: Crashing Down

**Chapter Five: Crashing Down**

Sherlock woke up in a cold sweat. His heart was racing and his pulse was pounding as he struggled to untangle himself from his sheets. At some point during the night he must have fallen asleep because he found himself scared and disoriented for no reason. Well, there was a reason, but Sherlock's brain was struggling to rationalize what happened. He had a nightmare, something that had not occurred in over a year.

_He had been running, running through the streets of London with John trailing close behind him. His pulse was pounding and he wanted to slow down but he could not. John was giving him words of encouragement, telling him that he could do it, that he was being a good boy, there wasn't something quite right about John's voice but Sherlock couldn't think about that as he was running. His entire being was focused on running and getting away from whatever was chasing them. _

_It wasn't long before Sherlock's gave out however, and he went tumbling to the ground. He fell onto his face, falling harder than he anticipated with no grace whatsoever, a cry erupted from his throat out of surprise and John came to an abrupt stop. _

"_Sherlock!" He knelt beside his fallen friend and scooped him into his arms. _

_Sherlock felt weak and powerless as he struggled to move but could not. John murmured something that he could not make out before lowering his mouth to Sherlock's ear. Everything froze around them as he felt the blonde's breath on his air. _

"_I won't let you die," he said. _

_Sherlock gazed at John, admiration in his eyes and turned to rest his head into the crook of John's neck. "John, you should know, I-I think I….I've always-"_

And then Sherlock woke up. Just like that. The curly haired man didn't know what to feel as felt his heart rate come down. The last time he had a nightmare like that it was because he had almost lost John at the hands of Moriarty. Sentiment….That's what it was. It made his stomach turn just thinking about it. Sherlock Holmes did not believe in sentiment, not for anyone. As a child he didn't bat an eyelash when he brother joined the Royal Secret Service, he didn't cry when he broke his first arm, he barely shed a tear when he almost lost his mother to cancer.

And yet, he managed to feel sentiment for a flatmate that he barely knew for three years. It did not make sense, not in the least.

John Watson was barely any different from all the other human beings in his life. He was just as stupid, just as fallible, just as annoying. He had a habit of talking too much when Sherlock wanted silence, he managed to say some of the most stupid things that Sherlock had ever heard someone utter, and he was almost as predictable as the bad movies he liked to watch.

And yet, Sherlock tolerated his presence. He knew it was because he was lonely. The man hated the idea of living alone. When he finally moved out of his brother's home it was because he could not stand being outsmarted by the government official. He had searched for a flatmate because he didn't want to think about having to be alone with his own thoughts constantly. When he was alone, he got bored. When he got bored, he became destructive. John was one of the view flatmates he had in his life that were able to tolerate the man's odd tendencies and full on rudeness. Was that where his sentiment came from?

Sherlock let out a long breath that he didn't realize he had been holding and pushed himself up into a sitting position. What time was it? Did he miss anything. He picked up the phone that had been laying on the pillow next to him and looked at his missed messages. There were two from Mycroft. Bloody hell. This could be bad.

_It's coming Sherlock, be ready. We can't contain it. _

_-Mycroft_

_I'll pick you and John up from your flat before it gets bad. Please remain calm when_

_London gets hit. _

_-Mycroft_

Shit. He had missed the warning call. But he had not been woken up by anyone yet, either everyone else was asleep or the news stations didn't have any information yet. He climbed out of bed and made his way to the living room to see if anyone was still awake. Lo and behold, John Watson was still awake, his eyes on the telly. Lestrade was laying on the couch, sprawled out and in a deep slumber.

"They lost contact with the correspondents in Africa. According to the news there's no information coming out of the continent at all," John said, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

Sherlock nodded, knowing why Mycroft sent the message.

"John, Mycroft told me that….well….let's just say that London isn't safe. He says it's coming here too," his voice was steady as he tried to keep low as not to disturb the detective.

John's eyes found Sherlock's face and he blinked slowly. Something dawned on his face and started speaking as slowly as possible.

"So, we might black out like Africa?" There was little emotion in his voice.

Sherlock could only nod. He admired the military professionalism that John was exhibiting right now. The man feared nothing and suddenly Sherlock realized that there was no one he would rather have with him here in this impending darkness.

Lestrade shifted on the couch and opened his eyes. "Yeah, so it's beginning then mate?" His voice was soft from sleep but there was something hiding that Sherlock almost did not catch.

John nodded from his chair and Lestrade sat up, breathing in deeply as he did so.

"How bad, how bad is it going to be?" His eyes were uncharacteristically bright.

"It's...well...it will not be a walk in the park. I suspect that Africa has collapsed in on itself which is why it has become cut off from the rest of us. Imagine a war zone that has no end. London will be joining their ranks soon enough according to Mycroft, he has urged us to remain calm," Sherlock explained.

Lestrade nodded and cleared his throat. "Do you think, well, do you think that Sally will be alright?" He asked in a faux casual voice that suddenly told Sherlock that Lestrade and Sally were involved again. But the motion and nervousness of the question told him that they were more than friends with benefits this time.

"I highly doubt it, unless has someone with her. Her guns will be ill preparation for the coming storm. I would suggest that you contact her now and inform her of the impending storm," Sherlock suggested calmly.

Lestrade looked a bit sheepish. "I've been keeping her up to date all night, I just...Didn't know if she's safe or not in the end. I should...I should probably go. Go and stay with her." His face was turning more and more red as he spoke.

Christ, was Lestrade in love with Sally Donovan? He really didn't know anything about Lestrade's personal life after all. To have missed something that was so obviously a weakness and a disadvantage. He should have been more aware of this on the crime scenes. Had John known? He doubted it. Where was his head?

As Lestrade stood up to leave, John stood up as well. "Greg, the doors are barricaded, you would have to go down the fire escape of course, but before you do, maybe you should have her come here. Right Sherlock?" John turned to the taller man.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and considered that for a moment. Sally Donovan did have a gun, and tactical training. But would she be a drain on their resources? She was obscenely annoying most of the time, but she might be bearable if Lestrade were to keep her on a leash.

"That's...acceptable. Please have her here in no less than two hours and tell her to bring supplies," Sherlock said.

The inspectors eyes lit up as he left the room to make a phone call. His body language relaxed considerably and John's eyes lit up. Sherlock snorted and turned back to John. His eyes were blank but he felt his stomach turn in his gut.

"John, I have to be completely frank with you. I do not know exactly what's coming but I know that is like nothing we have ever seen before. Mycroft does not worry easily, no matter what wars are developing. We will get through this eventually, but it will unfold as it happens." He paused and took in a deep breath. He would not admit outright that he was completely in the dark, not yet anyway. This was the best admission that he could come up with at the moment.

A small smile formed on John's face as he listened to Sherlock's admission. John was lovely wasn't he? Non judgemental, no matter what Sherlock did or said to him. He looked as though he trusted Sherlock completely. And he did didn't he? Trusted Sherlock completely. It was an odd feeling knowing that someone trusted him that completely, even when he had no idea what to do.

It had happened before, Sherlock had been wrong about cases, he wasn't perfect even though he strived to be. He made many mistakes. There were unsolved cases. John was the only person who knew about these things, maybe that's why he was the only person who believed that he was human and not a freak of nature.

"Sherlock, we'll be fine. All of us. This isn't something that you could have known, it's not really something that you need to make sense of, we'll get out of it," John told him.

"In fact, I think this is more my area of expertise to be honest," again, a small smile.

John would be the one who was cut out for this wouldn't he be? If London became as dangerous as Africa was during the broadcasts, he had the knowledge that could keep them alive and the experience to pull it off. Sherlock may have theorized about it but John lived it. It would be that experience that would keep them alive. He fought in wars that would make even the Inspector's stomach turn. Logically, it was best that John take the wheel if things really did start to go south in London after the virus hit. Sherlock nodded at John and broke out into a rare smile, it would not have been noticeable to anyone other than his flatmate...


End file.
